


A story of redemption

by duesternis



Category: Christian Bible (New Testament)
Genre: Dialogue, M/M, Out of order storytelling, Reincarnation, Scars, Segments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 01:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16844320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: He wanted to find home. A place where he belonged.





	A story of redemption

**Author's Note:**

> first story for them that I've posted.

I.

"I feel like I’ve known you all my life", he said, tossing another stone into the black river.  
It vanished with a small sound, lost to the vastness of the night around them.  
"Me too."  
Their hands touched almost on accident. The grass was cold and wet under them.

II.

There was something in the way the man moved. A grace, an easiness that was unprecedented.  
It made his throat dry up, made him neglect the conversation going on around him, eyes stuck to the man with the red jacket.  
He carried a tray filled with glasses of champagne.

"Excuse me", he said, standing up and leaving the circle that had gathered around him with ease.  
Ignored the saddened expressions on many a face.

He wanted a glass of champagne.  
  
"Excuse me!"  
"Yes, sir?" The man turned around, voice like honey and milk.  
His face was brown, the dark hair framing it perfectly. His eyes were golden-brown and he smiled.

"Champagne."  
"Certainly, sir." He brought the tray around, presenting it with humble grace.  
The red jacket was tight on his arms.  
The stem of the glass was cool, the alcohol a blessing for his parched throat.  
"Your name?"  
  
The man smiled, his teeth white. "Sir, please do not laugh at me, my mother is a very devout woman."  
"Go on, I won’t laugh." He grinned back, the smile addicting.  
"I am called Jesús."

It strung a chord somewhere deep in his chest. Like a wet finger dancing along the rim of a glass; something hummed in him.  
He felt ready to burst.  
"Why would I laugh at your name, Jesús?"  
The man - Jesús - tilted his head, smile gaining a wistful edge. "I would not know, sir."

A woman with a shrill voice and an atrocious fan called for champagne.  
Jesús inclined his head and turned away, before looking over his shoulder.  
"Apologies, sir, I have to work."

On a whim, chest still feeling strung tight, he reached out and touched Jesús‘ broad shoulder.  
"Meet me on the upper balcony in an hour. If someone asks, tell them the Young Master called for you."  
  
They would frown and bat their eyes at it, but it was so common that no one said anything.  
Jesús nodded and turned away, his grace still commanding the room.

III.

"Got some change?"  
"Ah, sorry, I’m broke. But I have some coffee in my thermos. You can have some of that."  
"Hell, I’ll take it."  
"There you go, careful it’s hot."  
"Hot is good, I’m freezing my balls off."  
"..."  
"Thanks."  
"No problem. Need a place to crash at tonight?"  
"..."  
"No attachments, no hooks. Just my couch, man."  
"Just your couch?"  
"It’s gonna get below freezing tonight, man. I swear I won’t touch you, won’t even talk to you. But shelters are full and it’s too cold to be outside tonight. Just. Be smart. Sleep on my couch."  
"..."  
"Please?"  
"... okay."  
"Great. I’m Josh. Joshua."  
"Call me J."  
"Nice to meet you, J."

IV.

"Will it hurt?"  
Cicadas screamed into the velvet of the sky, the stars shivering under the onslaught.  
Jesus‘ hand was firm and warm in Judas‘ palms.  
He knew every callus and scar on them. Knew the patterns they mapped when Jesus talked.  
  
"I think so."  
"I’m sorry."  
A smile, so infinitely kind that Judas wanted to beg the heaven, the Lord, to spare this gentle soul.  
Let the sinners burn.  
  
"Don’t be, my brother. It is not your pain to bear. You’ll have your own."  
"I know."  
Judas looked at Jesus. The warm eyes he had become so used to feeling on his skin.  
  
"I will miss you."  
"You will see me again, Judas. I can’t promise you much, but I can promise you that. Nothing is finite and we will meet again."  
  
Judas laughed, throat tight with unshed tears, hands jittery with fear.  
"I’ll hold you to that!"  
  
Jesus just smiled, eyes turned up at the blanket of stars. Judas wished the image to be burned into his eyes.  
He wanted to see nothing else for the rest of his life.

No matter how short it would be.

V.

He woke sweat-drenched and panting. His hand was futilely reaching out for something lost to his dream.  
He dropped it into the hot sand grilling him slowly and closed his eyes again.  
  
It felt as if he were close to whatever was compelling him to scour the deserts, the wastelands between the green, happy settlements.  
There were no goats here, no water, no laughing families and no food.  
He had never felt so sheltered, so cared for.

He guessed that this was what people called being held in God’s hand.  
  
He cared nothing for God.  
He wanted to find home. A place where he belonged.  
  
Something was calling him.

VI.

DO YOU REALLY WANT THIS, MY SON?  
  
"Yes, Father. He needs me. I owe him this. We all owe him this."  
  
HE BETRAYED YOU.  
  
"I needed him to betray me. I never apologized, never thanked him. I hate to see him so lost."  
  
I AM NOT SURE HE DESERVES THIS.  
  
"We talked about you and your treatment of sinners, Father. Must I remind you of the fallen light?"  
  
I AM NOT WILLING TO GRANT YOU TWO SINNERS TO LOVE.  
  
"Father, you know I love all of them, no matter what you grant me."  
  
ONE!  
  
"We’ll see. I have support, you know."  
  
THE TWIN.  
  
"Do not call him that. He hates it. I’ll see you around. Take care and have patience. Kindness is key to a human heart."

VII.

"Hello, Jude."  
Tall, brown skin, black hair. Or was it dark brown? Kind eyes and a handsome face.  
  
"Hi."  
"I’m Isa. Can I sit?"  
"Don’t know. Can you?"  
  
A warm laugh, that made Jude’s skin tingle.   
His cheeks flushed and he pulled his hood up.  
  
Isa sat down and talked to him for the better part of an hour.  
He had a very pleasant voice and nice hands.

They walked through rainy streets, Jude’s hands buried deep in his pockets.  
Isa was gesticulating smoothly, along to the story he was telling.  
Jude felt like a moth, drawn to the warm glow of a streetlamp, burning his wings on the bulb.  
  
At a corner-shop Isa bought a pack of cigarettes for him and Jude smoked his first cig in a week.  
The flood of nicotine in his system was like a high.  
  
"Do you think we’ll get along, Jude?"  
Jude looked at Isa. The small mole by his eye. The dark curls. The warm, open eyes.

He felt familiar, as if they’d sat next to each other in grade school and had both forgotten it.  
"Yeah, we’ll be fine."

VIII.

Idly he touched the scar on his belly.  
Accident. At least that was what he told people.  
It had always been there, as long as he could remember.  
  
Same as the bruises around his neck, always coming back a few days after fading. They hurt as if they were weeks old already.  
Dull and weird.  
Almost imagined.  
  
"I have scars too. Ones I can’t explain."  
"Show me."  
  
The man on the bed raised both hands.  
The wrists were scarred, as if they had been bound together by a rope for a very long time.  
  
"Huh. We’re a strange pair."  
"We are. I’ll see you next week?"  
  
He grinned, pressed a kiss to the scarred wrist and pulled his shirt over his head, the laces dangling undone at his throat.  
"You bet."

In the sunlight a few specks of dust glistened gold.

IX.

The light was blinding when he opened his eyes.  
The ground below him was soft, yet firm.  
The air warm and cool, smelling sweet and fresh.  
Birds sang and somewhere close by a spring gurgled happily.  
  
He sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes.  
Squinted at his surroundings and found a pair of naked feet at his side.  
Brown, square toes.  
A pair of simple linen pants ended at the ankle.  
  
His heart beat in his throat and he squinted up at the rest of the person.  
They were crowned by the blinding sun, making it impossible to discern their face, or even the colour of their hair.  
  
And yet.  
  
He knew who was standing there.  
  
Had known it at first glance.  
  
His tongue lay thick and useless in his mouth.  
A gentle, broad hand lifted him up from the ground.  
  


He fell against the shoulder, smelling oil and figs and dust and fresh sweat.  
Thick, warm arms closed around his back and held him, while he shook apart.  
  


After he had no tears left, had nothing left inside of him but a warm glow, like the one crowning his brother, he looked at his face.  
Found it as expected: Smiling.

"Hello, my brother. Welcome home."  
And then he was kissed between olive trees.


End file.
